Soul of a Dov, Blessing of a Goddess
by MythicElf
Summary: Dalamus is sick, Marcurio knows it, but when they find out what's wrong with him it turns out to be an exciting new quest altogether. Rated T for language, Male!Dunmer!Dovakiin x Marcurio, mpreg, little bit of drabble involved
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I've really been looking forward to this. C: it's my first attempt at mpreg, because I wondered what a Dunmer-Imperial baby would look like :)

...

He should've known, really.

All the signs were there; he just didn't think it applied to them. That being said, he didn't really notice when Dalamus started getting up early in the morning and coming back to bed a little paler than before; he honestly never thought much of it. It wasn't until he actually _heard_ the Dunmer throw up the entire contents of his stomach that he grew concerned.

Dalamus was over in the spare room, kneeling on the floor over a bucket. One arm was curled around his stomach as he retched, and the white hair that usually fell calmly down to his shoulder blades was flung over one side of his head, probably in hopes of being out of the way. With a frown etched into his face the mage went in and kneeled beside him, pulling his hair back with one hand and rubbing his back with the other. The Dragonborn finally paused long enough to close his mouth, swallow feebly and make a little disgusted sound in the back of his throat.

"Are you okay?"

The elf shook his head, a furrow in his sweating brow as he leaned his forehead against the rim of the bucket. "No… I don't know what's wrong with m –"

A single, strong convulsion wracked his frame right before he threw up again, and when finished he sat back with a tiny whimper and a clutch at his abdomen. "… Me."

"How long has this been going on?"

It seemed to take a bit of exertion to get his eyes to focus on his husband. "A few days… maybe a week?"

"Why didn't you tell me?" Marcurio was still rubbing circles into his back, voice soft and concerned.

He swallowed hard, made a disgusted sort of face, and shook his head. "I didn't want you to worry… it's no big deal."

"Well, I'm worried. And it is a big deal."

"So I have a little morning sickness, it's not the end of the world. I'm fine." Dalamus' tone was an attempt at finality, but he didn't quite match it since his voice still shook a little.

"If you say so."

Marcurio had barely gotten the words out before Dalamus' stomach lurched and he leaned for the bucket again.

…

"Do we have any mudcrab chitin?"

Marcurio's entire face scrunched in confusion, "No, of course not."

Dalamus groaned in disappointment. "Why _not?_"

"Because you hate all things that swim."

He couldn't help but smile at how it was worded. "I don't know, I'm really craving mudcrab at the moment."

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, of course," he smiled widely, and looked over at the door. "I'll go see if the market has any."

"And if they don't?" Marcurio crossed his arms as Dalamus pulled on a shirt and his boots.

He was halfway out of the door when he answered. "I'll go kill one myself!"

With a sigh the mage went back to the alchemy lab, where he was boiling a large quantity of dragon's tongue nectar for some salve a customer wanted. Once all the water boiled out, a thick, sticky substance would be left over for whatever use they had in mind. He observed it carefully, reducing and enlarging the flame as needed, and finally left it alone when he was satisfied.

After that he shaved the three days' worth of stubble from his cheeks, leaving the little triangle below his lip neat, and sat down in front of the fire pit to try the telekinesis spell he'd never really gotten the hang of.

He actually had the cooking pot up a few inches when Dalamus came in the house, a basket in one arm and a grin on his face. Needless to say, Marcurio's concentration was shattered and the pot fell rudely back into its holder.

"Oh, I'm sorry," the Dunmer murmured, looking down at the slightly disappointed expression on his husband's face. "If you need me to stay quiet, I will."

"No, no, no, I'm _done_, I have a headache," he sighed, leaning back in the chair and pinching the bridge of his nose. Dalamus chuckled and approached him, pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"You shaved," he noted, appreciation in his voice, and kissed him again.

"Did you get your mudcrab?" the mage asked with a smile, enjoying the soft press of his _'wife'_s' lips.

Dalamus put his hands on his hips. "You know what, I was on my way to get some, but then I decided I wanted some salmon."

"You _especially _hate salmon."

"I know, but I really wanted some," he licked his lips, then looked at Marcurio with excitement in his eyes. "Guess what else I got."

"What's that?"

"There's this amulet that was stolen by bandits..." he trailed off theatrically, enticing the slight raise of Marcurio's brow, "And we're gonna go get it."

"And why does this excite you so much?"

"It's in the Rift. I thought you might want to stop in Riften, see some old friends."

The Imperial smiled. "When do we leave?"

"Whenever you want."

"After dinner?"

"Good choice."

...

By the end of the day they had made it all the way around the base of the Throat of the World, and stopped in Ivarstead as the horizon blazed a dying gold. The Vilemyr Inn was a quaint little place, with friendly people and good ale, and before long Marcurio and Dalamus went up to their rented room for a good night's rest.

At least, the Dragonborn _would've _had a good night's rest if he hadn't woken up in the middle of the night with an obscenely painful cramp in his stomach. It wasn't even in one specific area; it just felt like his entire abdomen was trying to squeeze his organs up out of his body. He let out a piteous little groan, rolled out of Marcurio's arms, and trudged across the room to where his bag was. A few seconds of rifling procured a healing potion of some sort - he didn't remember what it was and really didn't care - and he downed it as fast as he could.

Marcurio felt the lack of warmth along his front within seconds, and mumbled out, "Dal, what'cha doin'...?"

"Nothing." he was glad that the Imperial hadn't opened his eyes to ask, lest he see the bottle.

"Come back to bed."

He paused for a few seconds, waiting for his muscles to relax, then shuffled back to the bed when the pain seemed to dull a little. Marcurio's arm looped over his torso, pulling him back against the mage's chest, and he chuckled. "You're gettin' fat."

"I don't know why," Dalamus mumbled; he had, in fact, discovered the little protrusion of his otherwise flat stomach a few days prior.

"Eat a little less salmon?"

Dalamus snorted. "Ass."

…

When Marcurio actually got up in the morning, ready to move on toward Riften, he frowned knowingly at the absence of his husband from the room. He wouldn't go on to bother him immediately, though; if he was having morning sickness again he'd be back soon enough. So he gathered up their things and went down the stairs.

"Your elf friend went outside," Wilhelm – the innkeeper – intoned, not even looking up as he wiped a ring of moisture from the surface of the counter, "He looked pretty sick to me."

With a short word of thanks Marcurio went out to get him. Dal couldn't have gotten far; if he looked sick before he even left the inn, the farthest he would've gone was behind the building.

And that's exactly where he was, a hand to his stomach as he leaned against the wall of the inn. His face was a deathly pale shade of the normal navy and his breaths came in slight snatches.

"We're going to a healer." The Imperial said, voice strict and final as he crossed his arms.

Dalamus opened his eyes, frowned as best he could, "I don't need it."

"Says the one who just threw up his entire dinner."

"It isn't a big deal, Marc," it was actually a _whine_; eyebrows pitched upwards, fists curled slightly with determination, "I don't need it."

"Is this feeding off of your 'worry' complex?"

"What's a worry complex, Marc?" he looked more guilty than annoyed, but the latter was actually present.

"'I didn't want you to worry,'" he used the exact same words Dalamus used _every damn time_, "You'd rather let yourself get worse than tell me you were ever bad in the first place."

The Dunmer sighed, swallowed, made a disgusted little face. "Not until we get to

Whiterun."

Marcurio hadn't had a compromise in mind, but there was no way he'd let the elf wait that long. "No. Riften."

"Fine." Dalamus sighed, pushed himself off of the wall. "Alright, let's go."

As they left the little town Marcurio handed the Dragonborn his things. Dal searched his bag for an apple, but only after securing his quiver and bow neatly on his back, and turned to offer the mage one.

The dragons must have been a little pissed off that the dark elf had slain Alduin; along their way to Riften they met not one, not two, not even three, but _four_ of them. In the space of a few hours. Marcurio had never seen the Dragonborn fight so much, and by noon he was exhausted – not only from the fighting, but the amount of souls he had consumed in the last few hours. He more or less _begged _to stop and sleep – maybe not verbally, but eyes and body language told everything – but the mage didn't want to; the sooner they got to Riften the sooner they could find out what was wrong with Dalamus. So he just got the elf up on his horse, taking his bag off in exchange, and led it on as the Dovakiin began snoring softly.

With Marcurio's persistence and the horse's steady plod, they made it to Riften well after night set in. Masser and Secunda were high in the sky, highlighted by the aurora, and he led the horse over to the stables.

Thus began the task of waking Dalamus up.

"Dal... Dal, wake up," he said softly, reaching up to shake his shoulder in an attempt to make this easy. He didn't even know why he tried that; the elf slept like a rock, unfeeling when unconscious, and it would take much more to rouse him.

So he shook a harder, making the Dragonborn's entire body shake a little, but that only got him a little moan of complaint and a furrow in his brow.

"Dalamus Andreas-Releth, wake the hell up!" he growled, using Dal's entire name before casting a very light fire spell along the Dovakiin's bicep. He didn't feel bad at all; he was resistant to fire, anyway, and it wasn't a very strong spell. So he couldn't help but feel a little accomplished when Dal shot upright on the horse, hand already flying in the direction of his quiver as if he was being attacked.

"Welcome back to Nirn, love," Marcurio teased, thoroughly amused by the annoyed frown on the other's lips.

"Where are we?" the adventurer asked, instead of justifying the snide remark with a response.

"Riften. Now, we could always rent a room at the Bee and Barb, or would you rather sleep on the horse?"

"Stop being mean to me, I just woke up," Dalamus pouted, got off the horse, and cracked his neck - judging from the way he tilted his head. "I'm never sleeping on a moving horse again."

"I'm holding you to that."

With a little snort the elf led his horse up into the stables, got him all settled in, and they headed into the city.

The first one at the Bee and Barb to notice them was Talen-Jei. "Marcurio?"

"The one and only," the mage in question grinned, grasping his old friend's forearm. "Missed me, didn't you?"

"You would think that. I swear, once this one came along, you disappeared!" he grinned widely, reaching for the elf's arm as he said it.

"Nice to see you, too, Talen-Jei."

Marcurio laughed. "Well, I love the guy. What could I do?"

Keerava came over, gave them both hugs. "What brings you back to Riften?"

"We can't just stop in for a visit?" the Imperial asked, feigning insult, but then he smiled, "The Harbinger here has a mission just outside of town."

"You're heading out so soon?"

"Maybe, it depends," he answered with a sidelong glance at Dalamus, who sighed and looked away. Keerava sensed the slight tension in the room and tried to break it; "A few rounds of mead, anyone? On the house."

And, of course, Dalamus was the very first one sitting at the bar.

...

"Come _on,_ Dalamus!"

"No, I don't want to! You bloody well know that!"

"You promised!"

"The hell I did!"

This was the conversation someone would've heard had they passed by the mage who was dragging his Dunmer companion down the wooden walkway. Marcurio was trying to yank the Dovakiin by the back of his studded armor, with Dalamus marching heavily in the opposite direction, even though he wasn't moving forward at all. There was a determined scowl on his face, brow furrowed, teeth bared just a little bit, but he made no progress whatsoever; Marcurio's steady pull backwards overtook his struggle to get away. Soon enough they made it to the Temple of Mara, and he was only able to hang onto the door for a few seconds before he was pulled completely inside.

To Dalamus' credit, the Imperial was actually huffing a little when he finally got his husband inside the temple. Maramal, from another side of the room, gave them an odd look but smiled and went over to meet them.

"Welcome back, you two," Maramal murmured kindly, "I trust these last few months have been well?"

"Yes, excellent," he couldn't hold back a smile as he pressed a kiss to Dal's temple. "Is Nura here?"

The priest's brows dipped in either confusion or concern, "... Of course. She's farther in."

"Thank you." he took his husband's hand, more to keep him from leaving than just to hold it, and went back further into the temple to meet with Nura. The older Nord woman smiled at them when Marcurio greeted her, and asked what brought them to her.

"I think he's sick, but the stubborn ass wouldn't go to a healer. I had to drag him in here as it is," he said it with a slight smile, "Would you mind looking him over?"

"Of course," and she turned to Dalamus. "What are your symptoms?"

"Morning sickness, nausea, these _weird _cravings, and I had a really terrible cramp last night, like, my entire stomach..." he ran them off boredly, like it was nothing, and ignored the little sigh his husband let out at the last one."And I'm gaining weight for no apparent reason."

"Does it show anywhere other than your abdomen?"

"... No, not really."

"It sounds like you're pregnant to me."

Dalamus just looked at her. Marcurio just looked at her. Neither could control the smirk crawling across their faces, spreading into a grin, giving way to chuckles and finally full blown laughter - gut-busting, tear-jerking laughter that left them slightly breathless. But when they caught their bearings and looked up, the priestess stared back at them with a completely straight face.

Dalamus blanched and Marcurio's throat tightened. They managed it at the same moment, "Oh, my _Gods_."

"Not all of them, just Mara in particular."

"How is that even... _possible_?" the Imperial had to ask, breaking his question in two with a hard swallow.

"I've never seen it myself, but legend has it that Mara will bless those who have made a large personal sacrifice for others with a child, especially if the couple in question wouldn't be able to procreate otherwise."

Dalamus spoke up this time, but just barely, "... Why not just make me a woman?"

"Who you are is not for her to control," Nura answered evenly, "Who you love, however, and what becomes of that love, is where her influence lies."

"_Gods_..." he sighed, sat heavily on the bench behind him.

"If there is any further doubt you would like to absolve, there is a spell that can detect the heartbeat of an unborn infant."

Marcurio's interest was piqued, "Why not use the normal detect life spell?"

"Detect Life is not strong enough to show such a minute heartbeat. For this we use Detect Pulse."

It only took a few moments for Marcurio to learn the spell - as Dalamus watched this process he distantly wondered why the Imperial wasn't bloody _Arch-Mage _yet - and when he cast it a soft pink aurora surrounded his hand. Nura instructed him to hold his hand close to his husband's stomach, but not on it, as the interference of magic on such a small life may alter its growth. He followed her every direction to the letter, trying to be as careful as he could with what could be his child, and...

There was a pulse.

It was a tiny little thing, soft and barely there, but... it was a pulse, beating into the magic on his palm. He sighed and a large smile spread, unbidden, across his face.

"Dal, she's right... you're pregnant."

...

A/N: I think my favorite part was having Marc drag Dal down the street :3


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: thank you, you beautiful people! I love you! ^w^

...

He couldn't believe it.

Not that he really doubted Nura in the first place, but it didn't sink in until Marcurio actually said it. He was going to have a _child_. It made sense; the morning sickness, the cramps, the _fish..._ But what was he supposed to do? Surely a pregnant male doesn't require everything a woman does, but how much _would _he need? He was so confused...

He leaned forward, resting his forehead on his knees, and ran his fingers through his hair with a heavy sigh.

"Hey," Marcurio's voice was soft as he crouched in front of his husband, placed a hand on top of his white head. Dalamus looked up at him. "I'm here, okay? You're not gonna be alone with this. Don't worry about it."

"I know, I won't," he smiled a little, "Just promise you won't treat me like a woman."

The mage grinned. "You know I can't do that."

Dalamus laughed, pressed a quick kiss to his husband's lips. "I shouldn't even have asked."

"Correct!" he stood up triumphantly, hands on his hips, a smirk written across his face.

"You're so stupid," he grinned back anyway, looked down and poked at his stomach experimentally, "I wonder how long it's been..."

"Considering your problems, I'd say three months. Give or take a week or two," Nura answered from across the room, sitting on a bench with her chin in her hand. "But there's absolutely nothing for you to worry about; Marcurio will take good care of you, I can see it."

By now the mage in question was sitting next to his husband on the bench with one arm around Dal's waist; he smiled, leaned over to nip lightly behind a pointed ear. "But you knew that already, didn't you, love?"

And Dalamus squeaked, hummed out a strained little "_Mhm!_" and scooted away from the Imperial quick as he could because Marcurio _knew _what that did to him, dammit! No way was he letting the man rile him up in public, in front of a priestess, no less. Thankfully Marc backed off, having intended the gesture as just a little game, but the look in his eyes excited the elf a little inside.

Nura laughed softly, a polite, lilting sound, and went over to a chest hidden in a corner behind the altar. "Here," she held out a translucent little pink bottle, "This is a little something to settle your stomach. Take one swallow before bed, and no morning sickness."

Dalamus nearly jumped up to get it; he absolutely _hated_ the taste of vomit, and he didn't like the look on Marcurio's face when he got caught. "Thank you," he smiled, ready to kiss her hand or feet or whatever he was supposed to do, but she just smiled back and put her hand on his shoulder.

"Anything for one of Mara's chosen."

...

"You do know you're my wife, now, right?" Marcurio smiled, closing the door of their room behind him.

Dalamus lay back on the bed, rubbing his stomach idly. "When wasn't I?"

"Oh, you always were," the mage smiled and lay next to his husband, his hand covering the slightly smaller blue one, "This just confirms it."

"I see."

The Imperial frowned at the tone of his voice. "What's wrong?"

"I'm... I'm tired of being special or chosen or whatever, I'd love to just be a normal Dunmer for once."

"Being normal is boring," he admonished, pressing his face into the elf's neck, "Besides, if you weren't who you are, we never would've gotten married."

"How do you figure?" Dal turned over on his side, facing his husband.

"We started getting together after your friend died in that ruin," slight sympathy tinted his words, and he pressed a kiss to the dark elf's collarbone, "And you were only there because it was a part of your plan to kill Alduin."

"It wasn't my plan," Dalamus denied it immediately, "But I guess you're right."

"And you're having my baby, only a special person could handle that."

The Dragonborn chuckled. "Yes, I feel so lucky."

"You should," and he scooted up enough to press his lips to those of the elf. Their mouths moved together rather than against each other, in something more like the soft flow of a current than the rude crash of a wave. Marcurio turned over on his back, pulling the elf up on top of him without severing their contact. One hand threaded into white hair, and the other curled around the firm mound of Dal's ass.

"You're not getting me pregnant twice," the Dragonborn whispered into the kiss with a smile.

Marcurio chuckled. "Doesn't work that way."

"I never cared how pregnancy works."

"I'm sure," with that he shut up, instead delving deeper into his husband's mouth, and rubbed his thumb down behind Dalamus' ear. The Dragonborn swallowed a moan and shot up straight, knees straddling the mage's waist. "No."

"Why not?" Marc whined, but his eyes were playful.

"You did this to me in the damn _temple_, that's why not." Dalamus punched him lightly, just to emphasize his point.

The mage sighed, "When do we have to leave for the bandits?"

"Tonight when we leave the city, it's on the way back. We probably passed it coming here."

"So you have time to give me sex now," he grinned, squeezed the hand on Dal's ass lightly.

The Dunmer had forgotten it was there; he raised a brow and smiled down at his husband. "You're such a whore."

"For my husband? I think not. Yes or no?"

Like he was going to say no.

That evening, just before sunset, the two set out for the bandit lair. Throughout Keerava's hugs and their friendly goodbyes, Dalamus expertly hid the slight twinge in his backside within his long gait, and Marcurio covered a dark hickey and a set of ten little welts with the fabric of his shirt (he winced a little when the Argonian bartender gave him his hug). And as a passing gift to the Dragonborn's long-time friends, he gave Talen-Jei those gems he'd been hoping for. His squinting, toothy smile of appreciation was the last they saw of him.

...

Dalamus may have been joking about being treated like a woman when they were in the temple, but this was ridiculous. Marcurio was being all over-protective and he _hated it,_ it made him feel useless because he wasn't doing anything because the mage _wouldn't let him._

First it was the horse. They were on their way to the bandit lair, and the minute he (jokingly, mind you) complained about walking for so long, Marc had him up on the horse. He insisted that he was fine, that it was a joke, but the Imperial wouldn't let him come down. At first he'd thought it was sort or cute, he was looking out for his husband and baby, but _damn_, he was wrong for thinking that.

Marcurio was stealing his gods-damned kills! It just wasn't _fair_, he liked killing these fetchers, why did Marc get all the fun? He was using that stupid baby excuse again; it was sweet, Dal felt loved, but dammit, he wanted to kill something! If the mage got one more spell in before he could shoot, he'd go insane!

But he couldn't dwell on that now, since there were three of four bandits coming at them at the moment. He actually managed a few shots thus time, got one in the leg and chest and another in the _eye._ It was shots like these that made his days... And then Marcurio was talking.

"Stay here," he said, low so as to not be heard, "I'll go check it out."

Dalamus huffed. He'd had enough. Too much pent up annoyance and anger built up in his chest and he was taking in a deep breath, a low growl building in the back of his throat, and before it could explode out of him he turned and Shoutedagainst the stone wall of the cave. Marc flinched and turned back to him, "What's wrong?"

"I'm not. A gods-damned. _Woman_." he growled the words, the Shout still rumbling through his voice. "Stop treating me like one."

"I'm not, I'm just look -"

"'Looking out for you and the baby,' I know," the roughness of his voice was beginning to fade out, but the pissed tone stayed the same. "Marcurio, I was kicking ass before we even knew about this, it's not fair for you to make me stop now. You're suffocating me."

With a little sigh the mage conceded, sheathed his dagger, but his left hand still glowed the bluish-purple of a shock spell. "Fine. Go on in, I'll wait here in case something attacks."

Dalamus' smile was self-satisfied as he strode into the little treasure room, and picked the lock on the large chest with ease. He didn't see the little latch behind the amulet when he grabbed it, because he probably would've found away to stop the trap if he had. When he stood to leave, smile turned smug with _I told you so,_ the wall behind him made some kind of noise and there was a shard of hot pain below his left shoulder blade. A sinking feeling pervaded his entire being, and as nausea fell heavily into his stomach all he could think was how he'd never hear the end of this...

Then he fell to his knees and blacked out.

...

Everything was fuzzy, intangible, just beyond his reach yet close enough to be felt. Sight, sound, touch, all blurred. He forced his eyes open, and after a long few moments and several blinks he could finally see. With his sight came the other senses, slowly, and while there wasn't much noise in the room he could feel a residual tingle in his back, right where he'd gotten shot, the sign of a recent healing.

There were skins under his bare chest, warm, soft fur beneath his fingers. With a little grunt he pushed himself up and over on his back.

"How long has it been?" he asked, voice rough and cracking.

Marcurio was sitting on the other side of the bed, trying at that telekinesis spell again, but when Dalamus spoke the book that had been floating hit the ground with a soft _thud_. He sighed, then answered, "A few hours."

"Oh."

"I hope you enjoyed not suffocating while you were unconscious."

_Oh, for the love of..._ "Why's that?"

"Rules." Marc turned around, wearing a pair of breeches and a simple shirt, and counted off each phrase on his fingers. "No dragons. No dungeons. No spiders, caves, or ruins. No mammoths _or _giants. As a matter of fact, no Harbinger. No Dragonborn. For the next six months, you're just Dal."

"That's not fair!" he shouted, sitting upright. "I just fought four dragons the day before yesterday. What makes today so different?"

"You thought I was going to wait until you got to the size of a horker to make you stop exploring?"

No, not really, but he'd hoped.

"Besides, you're the one who wants to be normal." it didn't show on his lips, but there was a smirk in Marcurio's eyes.

"But not completely. I like killing things, for your information."

"Go hunting. Everyone's doing it nowadays."

Dalamus gave up at this point; he didn't really have a choice, did he? "For the record, I'm sorry I worried you."

"I know," Marcurio smiled reassuringly, since he knew how much it bothered the Dunmer, "It's fine."

"Are you mad at me?"

"No, of course not." the mage thought, smiled, "As long as you promise not to sneak out."

"You know I can't do that."

Marcurio snorted. "I shouldn't even have asked."


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: I swear, you guys are amazing, I love you all :3

...

Marcurio woke, just barely, when his chest got cold. He opened his eyes, just barely, and confirmed his suspicions when there was no white hair in his vision.

"_Dal_," he growled, voice low and rough with sleep, and rolled over in bed with a groan. He really hoped the elf hadn't run off adventuring or anything, he's _pregnant_, for gods' sakes! Who was he kidding, of course he did, it's _Dal_. With a huff he got up out of bed and started to dress.

_This is ridiculous, it's stupid o'clock in the morning and I'm going off to drag him back home, I'm going to _murder _him, this is stupid, he better not be in trouble, the ass._ He cast Clairvoyance and left the house, slamming the door shut behind him.

...

Dalamus grinned as another of his arrows buried itself in a Falmer's face. This place was amazing, he loved it, especially since it was so close to Whiterun. He hadn't even taken the horse with him; Shimmermist Cave was only a bit of a walk away. It was full of Falmer, and their stuff, and charus eggs, and spiders (which make for excellent target practice). So far he hadn't seen any machines, thank the Gods; there were always Dwemer creatures in Falmer caves. It was turning out to be a pretty good night.

It probably took him a few hours to get all the way through, he couldn't tell, but eventually he found himself crouching in the corner of a large room, his arrow notched and aimed at the crowned head of the Falmer den leader, or queen, or whatever the hell it was. He held his breath, stilling his bow to immaculate aim, and only let his breath go after he let fly. The elven projectile whistled as it rose little by little, then began to drop and nestled itself deep in the cave elf's cranium. It gave a little croak and fell over sideways, and its head cracked loudly on the stone floor. Dalamus rushed forward, looked through its pockets and pouches, and was grinning at the amount of gold this stuff could get him when a deep, mechanical groan sounded off to his left.

His eyes went wide and he looked over in the direction of the noise.

_Oh, Gods, no._

A Dwemer centurion was peeling itself out of its circle beside the crumbling wall. Dalamus felt a shiver run the length of his spine as an empty feeling fell heavily into his stomach; he'd only ever fought one of these things, in Alftand, and it had killed Lydia. The only reason he'd beat the thing was because it was trapped behind that grate. He didn't come here to die. So he got up slowly, carefully, turned toward the exit...

And ran.

Like _hell_.

The centurion roared, in that way that made his ears want to cry, and large steps followed him down the incline leading back through the cave. A loud hiss filled the air and the back of his head prickled at the little bit of steam that had actually touched it, which was probably cooler than it should've been. The monster was close, but not close enough to kill him. Yet.

His heart was pounding in his chest and his ears, and the loud _thudthudthud_ of his booted feet hitting the stony floor echoed throughout this cave that seemed like it would _never end_, but it couldn't compete with the STOMPSTOMPSTOMP that was the centurion following after him. Close. Quickly. If he could get back to that room... he could hide, it would go right past him. His lungs were on fire, heart on overtime, legs pumping relentlessly as he continued through the passageway, and when he turned a corner there it was! He zipped around, hid in a dark corner near the way out and tried to hold his breath.

He vaguely remembered that, to get out of the cave, he had to go deeper into it. The chamber where he'd killed a few chaurus came to mind; there was no way a centurion could fit in that tiny little space! Eventually it would be trapped back in the bigger areas... though he stopped thinking about it when the Dwemer machine came charging into the room and stopped, looking around.

Was his heart always so loud?

There was a little scritchy noise on the other end of the room, far from him, and when the centurion began stomping over in its direction - thank the Gods - he began his slow migration toward the exit. He backed in slowly, eyes glued to the enormous golden machine, and was about two feet in when he tripped on a rock and fell on his ass. The short curse he let out may have been a little too loud; the centurion turned and looked right at him.

He cursed again, this time a little louder.

The centurion roared and ran at him; he scrambled backwards and got up to his feet. He didn't want to run anymore, he was _tired_, this was _stupid _-

"Move!"

Marcurio?

He didn't have time to think about it before he was yanked back by the collar of his armor. From the floor, on his ass again, he caught the form of Marcurio standing above him before his vision filled with bluish-white. He shut his eyes, ears buzzing, and as the blinding light faded from around his eyelids a loud, mechanical roar filled the air. When his eyes finally pried themselves open he looked up in shock; the centurion was shimmering with shock magic, falling apart - Marc had killed it!

The Imperial huffed and flexed his fingers, a motion Dalamus had come to recognize as him cutting off the supply of magicka to the digits. Indeed, the purplish-blue aura around his hands faded away, disappearing under the ends of his sleeves. He turned back to Dal and held out his hand to the Dunmer, a silent offer to help him up, and he took it. Dal opened his mouth to say something; thank him, apologize, _something_, but he was already starting to walk away, and the short glimpse he'd had of his husband's face was tired, and relieved, and... _angry._

They didn't speak the entire way out of the cave. Dalamus was still wary of something jumping at them out of nowhere, while Marcurio's silence was something tense and seething. Even the creatures were on his bad side at the moment; when a lone skeever reared its head the mage shut it up quite quickly with a fireball.

Dal was a little unnerved; he didn't like the silence, he wanted to _talk_, make some kind of noise other than his footsteps, but he didn't know what to say... When they'd walked a little distance from the cave he finally muttered out a little, "Marc, I..."

"Are you insane?" the mage demanded, voice furious, "What were you thinking?"

"I... uh, well... what?" he tried to give an answer, he really did, but he couldn't process the fact that Marcurio was so angry at _him_.

"You almost got yourself killed," he admonished, "_Both _of you."

"I wasn't expecting the centurion to be there," the Dragonborn muttered, feeling tiny beneath the guilt of Marcurio's words, unable to look his husband in the face.

"It was a Falmer cave, of course there were Dwemer machines there! You know that, what did you even go in there for?"

"I _had _to."

Marcurio narrowed his eyes as Dal rubbed nervously at the back of his head. "It was a contract. Wasn't it."

It wasn't even a question, and the mage's flat tone made Dalamus flinch. "Yeah, I know, but..."

"Dal, I _told _you not to take anymore contracts."

"I know, Marc, but it was just this one, and I haven't done anything fun for three weeks, I had to get out and _do _something."

"Running for your life? That _does _sound like fun," the mage remarked dryly.

Dalamus sighed, ran a hand through his hair. "This is stupid. I was all the way through the cave when it showed up. If it hadn't been there, I would've gone home unscathed."

"But it _was _there, you're missing the point," that gave him an idea. "Come here, let me show you something."

Marcurio led his husband over to a large rock and sat him down. "I want you to repeat what I say very carefully; this won't work if you don't say it right."

"Are you trying to teach me a spell?" Dalamus asked, one white brow arched.

"Yes. Don't you have relatives who are skilled in illusion?"

Dalamus shook his head. "Aryvis is my cousin by marriage. I'm not related to any mages."

"Oh. Well, this still won't be that hard. Just listen."

It took a little time and a deep wrinkle of concentration in Dal's brow, but eventually he learned the spell. The words were odd, they felt weird in his mouth, but soon enough his tongue wrapped around the strange syllables and his hand swirled with golden light.

"Now, I don't think you have a lot of magicka, so let's do this quickly," Marcurio murmured, taking hold of his husband's glowing hand, "Tell me when you feel something."

Dalamus watched in slight confusion as Marc guided his hand down over the slight curve of his belly. He knew that this was Detect Pulse, the spell Nura had taught _him_, but he didn't know what had so assured the Imperial that he was pregnant. To be honest, he was extremely curio _oh_.

"Stop." he used his other hand to take hold of Marcurio's wrist, keeping it in place.

It was like one pulse with an echo - the first, heavy and strong, was undoubtedly his; the second, soft, small, and a little bit quicker than his own, was a discovery that made his mouth gape slightly in wonder. He had something living, growing inside him, something he'd love and cherish for many years. Some_one._ His eyes caught those of his husband, slightly guilty red meeting a serious dark amber right as his magicka slipped away and the heartbeats quieted.

"Do you understand now?" Marcurio asked, releasing the Dragonborn's hand.

Dalamus nodded, and guilt kept his lips together. There was nothing he could say at the moment.

"You have to be careful with this," he reiterated, resting one hand against Dal's belly. "Okay? I don't want either of you hurt."

"I will, I promise."

"That's what you said last time."

"I didn't promise last time," he corrected, taking Marcurio's hand into his own. "I'm serious. I'll be good."

"You really promise?"

"I really promise."

"That's my wife," Marc purred, pressing a kiss to the Dovakiin's forehead. "I'm tired. Let's go home."

"Right."

Dawn light was peeking over the walls of Whiterun when they got back to Breezehome. Dalamus went for a quick bath; Marcurio, however, just stripped down to his breeches and fell into bed. He was half asleep when the Dunmer came up to the bedroom, smelling like soap and heat.

"Are you still mad at me?" he asked, burying his face in the warm skin of his husband's neck.

He wrapped one arm around Dal's back, pulling him close. "No."

"Good," the Dunmer smiled and closed his eyes.

...

~5 months later~

"I hate you for this."

Marcurio smiled, turning his attention up the stairs. "For what?"

"For _getting me pregnant_, fetcher."

"Why's that?"

Dalamus appeared at the top of the stairs, probably just getting away from the mirror, with his arms crossed above his positively round belly. In fact, he'd begun wearing his husband's shirts because his no longer fit. "I'm bloody _huge_."

Marcurio couldn't keep the smile off his face as he went up the stairs and wrapped his arms around his husband, swaying side to side. "I think you're beautiful."

"That doesn't mean I don't look fat," he muttered.

"Being fat and being pregnant are two very different things," he rubbed Dal's stomach with a little smile. "And relax, you only have a handful of weeks to go."

It had been a nice few months. Dalamus kept his word and didn't sneak off again, for which Marcurio was grateful. The store became their source of income since they were no longer selling artifacts and what not. The money was used for normal expenses and the odd two-in-the-morning cravings Dal would sometimes get. For instance, once he prodded the mage awake in the middle of the night because he _really _wanted some cucumbers and honey.

"Cucumbers and honey...?" he'd asked, eyesight still blurry with sleep as he tried to focus on his husband.

The Dovakiin nodded. "Can you get some for me?"

"None of the shops are open," he argued weakly, rubbing at one eye with the heel of his hand. But when he looked back over at his husband the look of disappointment on his face hurt his feelings a little.

That night he went out of the city to find some honey, and returned with three or four bee stings.

Such was the case for a number of incidents; it seemed like the baby was craving quite a few different things, some of which Dalamus wouldn't have come anywhere near under normal circumstances. But Marc was a total sucker for the guy, bulging belly and all, and faithfully did his bidding.

"I want it out of me already," Dal grumbled, but looked down at his swollen torso with warmth in his eyes.

"In due time." Marcurio pressed a kiss to his cheek and turned to answer the door, which had been knocked upon during the course of his sentence.

"Good morning, Fralia," he smiled, opening the door wider for the elder woman. She had appointed herself as their midwife and came over to check on Dal every week or so; apparently, she felt like she still owed them for the life of her son.

"Good morning, dear," she leaned up to kiss his cheek as she entered the house, then turned to the elf at the top of the stairs. "And how are you feeling today, mister?"

"Big," he muttered. Dalamus wasn't plagued with the mood swings of a normal pregnancy; instead, he was just perpetually disgruntled - as opposed to his sweet, shy disposition - save for a few moments of clingy adoration for his husband.

"That's to be expected. Let's go check on your little one," she smiled, and began ascending the staircase. Dal waddled to the bedroom and sat back against a high stack of pillows. Marcurio was in the room soon after, and sat down in the corner chair with a sweetroll.

The Dragonborn's attention focused entirely on the sticky little bun, and the baby seemed to kick in agreement. "Can I have some?"

Marc's eyes flicked over to him, the sweetroll hovering just before his lips.

"_Please_?"

The mage closed his eyes with a sigh, "There goes my breakfast," and walked over to the bed, handing it over to the Dovakiin. He took it with a word of thanks and polished it off quickly; he felt bad, he really did, but the baby had him eating at least twice the amount he normally would. Fralia nodded when he said as much - "That's good, it means the baby's healthy."

"I'm off to get some food of my own," Marcurio said, with a little glare at his husband; Dalamus smiled sheepishly under his gaze. "You, behave."

After a moment Fralia settled down in front of him on the bed as he pulled Marc's shirt up over his head. The Greymane woman cast some spell, the same spell she used every week and he _still _didn't know it, and lay a hand on his stomach, rubbing the stretched skin with a sort of reverence. The baby turned over within him and he smiled, let out a little sigh.

"Have you two picked any names yet?" Fralia asked, gray eyes meeting his own.

"Kylius if it's a boy, Aeriela if it's a girl."

"Whatever it is, it's growing quite well," she smiled, and the baby kicked against her hand.

"You don't have to tell me," Dal huffed, shifting into a more comfortable position. This child of his was a new weight his body couldn't get used to; his hips, knees, and ankles ached.

"I know, dear," she smiled warmly, ending the spell and patting his swollen belly, "You only have a little ways to go now."

"Thank the gods!" he was suddenly aware of Marcurio coming up the stairs as he said this.

"Aw, you missed me," the mage purred, leaning across the bed to press a kiss to Dal's cheek.

"Oh, get off, you," he giggled, pushing halfheartedly at his husband's face as Fralia rose from the bed.

"I actually have a few errands to run, so I'll be leaving now."

Dalamus smiled up at her. "I'll see you out."

"Nope," Marcurio took hold of his wrist before he could even move; the Dragonborn looked at him with a confused expression.

"Why not?"

"Dal, you're eight months pregnant. There's no reason to have you going up and down the stairs."

"It's fine," Fralia excused with a flick of the wrist, "I'll just see myself out."

She moved to do just that, but Marcurio followed her anyway. After letting her out and seeing her off the mage returned to the bed, spooning himself against the Dragonborn's side and pressing a soft kiss to the back of his neck.

"You know..." he closed his eyes when Dalamus spoke two soft words, "When we found out I was pregnant, I thought we were screwed."

"I know," Marc murmured into his skin, inhaling his scent. "It's been a long time since then, though; the idea's grown on you, hasn't it?"

"Was there a choice for it not to? I'm about ready to have this baby now. But yes, I rather love the idea."

"You'll make an excellent mother," the Imperial joked.

"I'm _serious_," Dalamus was not amused, though, and turned over in his husband's arms. "I... I'm afraid of one thing, though..."

Marcurio's brows drew together. "What is it?"

"What if I'm... not a good father?"

"You can kill the World-Eater, but you don't think you can raise a child?"

"That's my point; I've gotten to where I am by destroying, killing things, I don't want to... to _hurt _our child."

"Hmm," Marcurio hummed, sounding pensive. "I read once, somewhere, that dragons are even more protective of their young than bears. They'll burn down whole towns, kill hundreds of creatures, just to make sure the hatchlings aren't harmed. If anything, you'd hurt everyone else."

"That doesn't count, Marcurio, don't give me lore. What I don't want is to harm the baby, _myself_."

"You won't." he said it with finality, eyes dark and serious. "Stop fretting, everything will be fine. That's _us _in there; it's a small miracle for everyone but for us it's even more. Mara gave this to us, it's our gift, and once it's here you'll do everything in your power to keep it safe and healthy and content. Hell, we'll probably spoil it rotten."

"You really think so?"

"I know so. Dal, you're gonna be an amazing father."


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: yeah, really quick update, but I was itching to do Dal's labor... :3 well, I'm thinking this might be the last chapter. Don't get me wrong, I'll still write with Marc and Dal and the baby, but it'll be like a series of one-shots. I didn't wanna time-skip so much in one story.

For the record, I love Fralia. She seems like she'd be such a motherly figure for the boys, I love her being there. She uses the word 'dear' a lot, because my creative license says I can do that. Anyway...

On to the birthing!

...

Dalamus leaned forward a little more, grasping the fabric off the line and yanking it down. He was thankful for the beautiful day; winter would be settling in soon, it was nice to have warm weather so late into his pregnancy. The baby was due any day now, Fralia was certain, and he was anxious.

As he gathered the bundle of clean linens together said baby seemed to stretch within him, roll around a bit, then kick harshly against his protruding belly button. Dal winced; "You're being so violent today," he murmured, rubbing his belly with a smile. "Not much longer to go now."

He felt a soft rub against his palm and smiled wider. "Come on, let's put these things in the house."

After a short waddle around the corner of the house he pushed the door open with his back, having left it unlocked anyway. Marcurio turned to him as soon as he got in, looked at the basket in his arms. "I was going to get those, you didn't need to come down the stairs."

"Just because I'm pregnant doesn't mean I can't do anything around the house. I'm not going to hole myself up in the bedroom." he bent over to put the basket on the floor, ignored the strain in his back as he stood back up.

"I don't want you to put any unnecessary strains on yourself," the mage said pointedly, catching the effort that flashed across his husband's face as he stood upright.

"I'll be fine."

Marcurio watched warily as Dal walked around him to go up the staircase. He had to admit, the way the elf tottered while bearing his child was kind of adorable, but he needed to stop walking around so _much_. He'd be due any day now, he needed to rest, the stubborn ass. So he picked up the basket of laundry and turned around, only to drop it again at the sharp gasp Dal took in, at the sight of his husband kneeling at the top of the stairs with his arms around his torso.

"Dalamus!" he was up the stairs in record time, taking hold of the elf's face and asking what was wrong, what had happened.

Dal felt a little _pop _before wet warmth seeped down the insides of his thighs; his eyes shot open as pain suddenly swept over his frame. "... baby... _now_...!" was what came out, through a tight throat and gritted teeth. He was trying to breathe, trying to _hold together _because it all _hurt_.

"... Okay, come here, I've got you," Marcurio said, forcing down all the fear and worry in favor of doing what Fralia had told him to, for when this happened. He took Dal into his arms, in raging mother-hen-mode, and moved the Dunmer into their bedroom.

Once Dal was upright against the pillows, propped up just like he was supposed to be, his breaths came easier. Or was that just because the pain had faded a little? No matter; he still felt as if he was going to die - another violent contraction of his insides would be enough to kill him, for sure. "Get Fralia."

"I don't want to leave you alone," Marc said, voice pitying, but that just pissed him off; what good would him staying here be? The mage didn't know how to birth a child!

Dalamus punched him, hard. "_Get. __**Fralia**_."

And Marcurio obeyed; not just out of concern for his spouse, also out of fear for the growl of an impending Shout lying beneath his voice. He didn't want Dal to use up precious energy Shouting at him. The run across town was nothing; the sooner he brought Fralia back to Breezehome the better, she would deliver the baby. So when he found the elderly woman working in her garden he had no qualms against getting her attention.

"Good morning, Marcurio. How's Dalamus?" she asked sweetly, getting up and brushing her hands together.

It took him a minute to catch his breath. "His... His water broke..."

Her eyes widened. "Oh, my! Let's go!"

When they got back to the house, Dal must have heard because he yelled, "Get this thing out of me!"

"I'm right here, dear, hold on," she said calmly, and went up the staircase. "Marcurio, get as many towels as you can find and bring them up."

He went off to do what he was told and she went in to him. "Dalamus, look at me." the elf did, with a little effort, "How far apart are your contractions?"

"I don't know..." he growled through his teeth, "Thirty seconds?"

"Alright, good, just breathe," she cooed the words, trying to comfort him as she tugged his pants away. Marcurio returned with some towels and handed them over; she nodded her thanks and returned her attention to the elf.

It was official; Dalamus was damned _terrified_. Here he was, on his back, loud groans vibrating in his chest with each contraction that came and went. The pressure on his stomach was unbearable, he just wanted the damned baby _out of him_! "I thought... you were going to help me?" he gritted out, reaching blindly to his left for Marc's hand.

"I am, dear, but you aren't ready yet..."

The mage took his husband's hand into his own and pressed a kiss to his knuckles; his other reached up to brush the white hair back from his forehead. He began to whisper a spell into the warm skin, to help him calm down, but the woman cut him off.

"Do _not _cast on him." he just looked at her, eyes curious but lips silent. "His body is overly receptive right now, we can't risk what it will do to the baby."

"_What_?" the Dragonborn asked, sounding agitated and a little scared.

"I have to listen to Fralia, Dal."

"_I know_," he growled, voice dropping as another wave of pain wracked his frame.

"Okay, Dalamus, when you feel the urge to push, go ahead and do it - I'll tell you when if you don't, alright?" Fralia's calm voice cut through the fog of pain in his head as she told him what to do. He gave a brief nod but a yell ripped up his throat as another contraction hit him without warning.

"You need to push," she encouraged gently. Dal squeezed his eyes shut as he did so, voice arching up into a scream, and a warm tear slid down his cheek. Marc hated this, it was maddening to watch his husband experience such pain but to be unable to help him at all. He settled for holding back a string of curses as Dal crushed his hand; Gods, was the Dragonborn _trying _to break his bones?

"You're doing great, dear," Fralia praised, "Take a few breaths, then push again when you're ready."

He took this time for granted, catching his breath, before he felt a compelling urge to push. "A little harder, Dalamus, go ahead..."

"I... I can't do this," the Dovakiin cried, shaking his head as tears spilled down his cheeks. His face was flushed purple with exertion, shiny with sweat, eyes squeezed shut in pain.

"You can," Marcurio murmured, brows knitted together, holding on to Dal's hand just as hard as the Dunmer was holding on to him. "Just listen to her."

With a little nod he took in a breath and _pushed_, crushing Marcurio's hand in his grip, and if he hadn't been in so much pain he would've felt a little smug at the curse the mage let out. He deserved it, the bastard had gotten him pregnant in the first place.

"The head is out, Dalamus, you're doing a wonderful job," Fralia praised, "The hardest part is just about over with... Give me a long, hard push!"

One fist curled in the covers, the other squeezed harshly around Marcurio's hand (he thought he heard something crack...) and Dal thought his teeth might break from how tightly he clenched them as he gave a hard push. At least he might have worried about such a thing if he hadn't been so preoccupied with the pain ripping through his conscious, all-encompassing and absolute. He dimly felt lips press to his hand, a palm swiping tears from his cheeks.

And suddenly the pressure was gone. He opened his eyes with a gasp, blinked tiredly down at Fralia. She looked up at him, meeting his exhausted red eyes with gray ones that were positively _gleaming_, "Congratulations, you two, you're now the parents of a beautiful baby boy."

Marcurio smiled broadly, warmly, and kissed Dal on the forehead. "I told you you could do it, love."

"Mm," he hummed in response, physically unable to do much more, but he couldn't keep the smile off of his face, either. He blinked, slowly, and heaved a sigh, then closed his eyes again and descended into some place warm and dark.

...

Dal opened his eyes. Blinked up at the ceiling. Part of him wanted to roll over and go to back to sleep, but then he remembered why he'd been asleep in the first place; he was a father.

He sat upright, eyes still droopy, and scratched at the back of his head. "Marcurio...?"

"You're awake," The mage approached him from the other side of the room, smiling broadly. "Look."

Marc kneeled beside him, at the edge of the bed, and handed Dalamus the bundle in his arms.

He pulled back the towel and couldn't help but grin himself. The little baby boy - _his son _- was a soft weight in his arms. His skin was the color of the sky just before dawn, a rich, dark blue, and he blinked up at his father with big amber eyes. A soft dusting of bright white hair covered his whole head, right down to his rounded ears. "He's beautiful," Dal murmured, letting a soft chuckle escape him as the boy's tiny hand grasped at one of his fingers.

"You hear that, Ky? Daddy thinks you're beautiful," Marcurio cooed, putting an arm around his husband's shoulders. "Fralia looked him over, said he's perfectly healthy. I'm proud of you."

"Thank you," he turned his head and nuzzled it into the side of Marc's neck.

"She made food, too; do you want some?"

Come to think of it, his stomach did feel a little hollow... "Yes, please."

When he got up and left the room, Dal cooed and cuddled little Kylius in his arms. The baby stared up at everything, eyes wide and curious and an exact copy of Marcurio's. "You're such a quiet little thing."

"He takes after you, I think," he looked up at the sound of Fralia's voice. The elder woman was smiling at him as she entered the bedroom, hands busy with a towel.

Dalamus grinned before a thought occurred to him. "How do you know so much about..." he stopped trying to articulate and gestured to himself.

But Fralia was confused. "You just gestured to _all _of you."

"I mean, how did you know how to birth... from _me_," he hesitated to say the last words; the concept was still odd to him, it felt weird in his mouth.

"I birthed my nephew."

It took a few seconds for this to register; he just stared at her until it clicked. "... _Oh_."

(A/N: did Fralia have a brother in the game? I don't remember... Oh, well. Creative license ftw)

"He was less prepared than you, though," she said, "It's good that you and Marcurio found out so soon."

"Only because I was being stubborn," he remarked with a little grin, "Was he scared?"

"Oh, the poor thing was _terrified_. Had no idea what he was doing. The other man left him when they finally pieced it all together, completely disappeared."

"Asshole." and that was Marcurio, back with a bowl of stew that smelled positively _glorious _to the elf's hungry belly. He plopped down on the bed next to Dalamus and traded the bowl for the now-sleeping Ky. "I'd never leave you."

"You'd better not."

Fralia was gone soon after. When Dalamus was done with his food Marc took the bowl and put Kylius back in his arms, then disappeared down the stairs. He had been right; Ky would have been a small miracle to any other family, but to him he was much more than that. Dal hadn't expected to have a child, or anyone to continue his line, really; how could he? He was never attracted to women in the slightest, and they were the ones who gave birth to children.

And then he saved the world.

And then he got pregnant.

And now he had Ky, this adorable little baby boy who was just as Marc had put it - _us_. He would do all he could to keep Kylius safe and healthy and content... Hell, he'd probably spoil the kid rotten.

And he'd be perfectly happy in doing so.

...

A/N: sigh, I love these three. So, Soul of. Dov is over, but fret not! There will be one-shots that extend this storyline. Make suggestions, anything can be canon!

Shadow hide you, Dawn is Breaking.


End file.
